I'll Drown
by KingPreussen
Summary: The end of the war and what came after threatened to destroy Prussia from the inside out, but his friends don't treat him like a pariah-like he believes he deserves to be treated. France and Spain make progress with him and with their modern relationship. Bad Friends Trio established relationship, WWII and post-war themes, please read with caution
1. I Take His Hand

**Not related to any other story I've posted, no matter subject similarity. Please be warned there is some discussion of Soviet East Germany, the Scramble for Africa, Fascist Italy, and Nazi Germany. There is not supposed to be any sort of Nazi apology in this fic and if there is, please let me know. I'm doing a lot of research on this subject and I do not want to make it seem like real countries who should take responsibility are not.**

**Partially inspired by Russian Roulette and Bad Reputations by Tassledown on AO3, but started before I read their stories.**

* * *

_He is alone_  
_In his house out there_  
_Far far away_  
_He sleeps with his eyes open_  
_He was so sad last night_  
**Sóley - _I'll Drown_**

* * *

Winter was a truly awful season in Berlin. It was freezing and dreary, nothing like the almost pristine coldness of the Nordic nations or even Siberia. The only thing worse than snow that went grey and dirty in a few short hours was hail, and they often fell at the same time.

Prussia watched the winter's second snow accumulate in front of the windows of his basement rooms, sitting back at his desk chair and absently swiveling himself back and forth. That morning, he finished what paperwork and mindless emails he absolutely had to complete before Saturday was over and made considerable headway into the new economic project that he got around noon. Now he sat in his awfully cold basement and watched snow cover the three small windows that lit the office nicely in the less… disgusting months.

For the past two decades since reunification, winter marked the end of most of his visits from Spain and France until spring came around again. He was used to being lonely, so it wasn't that huge of a deal, and he even got to see them for conferences once every couple of months or visit them himself. But he knew international and even domestic relations with him were still tenuous, no matter what Germany told him, and didn't like to overuse his travel privileges.

So maybe that was a half-assed excuse. In actuality, Prussia just didn't want to be the burden he knew he really was.

There wasn't even anything to clean to take his mind off of things. Germany was off somewhere with Veneziano, so the kitchen was spotless. The living areas and bathrooms were _gleaming_. Prussia had vacuumed and scrubbed his own rooms to within an inch of their lives. Even Gilbird's cage had new newspaper lining the bottom and shining bars. He absently neatened the pile of completed paperwork on his desk before leaning back in the chair again with a sigh.

France and Spain were not abandoning him, he reminded himself sternly, dragging his eyes away from the windows and instead staring at the phone resting on his desk. Everyone was busy because everyone's boss was trying to finish most of their work before the winter holidays. Just because he left two messages on France's phone that had yet to be answered a week later didn't mean they were trying to avoid him.

Prussia's eyes stung and he rubbed them hard with the back of his hand. Spain had sent him a text just the other day… it was about Romano, but still. He had thought of Prussia in his time of need.

The stinging was getting worse. Prussia rubbed harder at his eyes, taking a deep breath. The heavy snow used to remind him of winters with Germany and war games and raising his little brother the best he could. Now it reminded him of Russia and the Soviets, and starving with his people in desolate ice. And they couldn't ever get _warm_, no matter if their skin burned and blistered from being too close to their fires.

Prussia jolted out of his memories when the front door opened. Veneziano and Germany would probably be cooking, even if they were just at a restaurant, so he had at least forty five minutes to get himself together before they knocked on his door. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands, resigning himself to the tears that had already started to fall. He knew from experience that fighting them only made his moments of weakness last that much longer.

His emotional stagnation started at the very beginning of World War II. His thriving democratic state was overthrown by his brother's fascists, and Germany was confused and hurting and even while Prussia's own people were being slaughtered in droves Prussia had to be the strong one. Germany put on a brave face for the Axis Powers and still relied on his older brother for the same guidance he had been given for a little over a century.

And they lost, and the Wall went up, and the East Germans were giving up hope. They needed a strong leader, and while he wasn't officially part of any negotiations or political movements, Prussia talked to them. He stole them food and cared for their children and tried to make himself sort of useful, even if it was one man against an empire. For almost fifty years he plastered on fake smiles and loud laughs and pushed through guilt and ultimate responsibility. Germany was reunified and Prussia was able to see his brother again, his brother who had grown so much emotionally he was almost unrecognizable.

A harsh sob ripped from Prussia's chest and he cried harder from the force of it. Free again, he finally had the chance to think about all the people he had lost, and all the pain his people felt in their last hours, and every winter without fail he had to let it out. Crying was a better alternative than breaking things, even if breaking things left a nice mess for him to clean up later.

"_Mon ami_?" a very familiar French voice called from the doorway of his office. Prussia's heart stopped and he tried to wipe his face with his sleeves, taking shuddering breaths.

"One second," he rasped out, startling when warm hands landed on his shoulders and pulled him backward. Spain looked uncharacteristically solemn as he stroked Prussia's hair away from his forehead and tilted his head backward enough to kiss his temple. "_Spanien_-" he began, but sobs once again overtook him and he suddenly had an armful of Frenchman and a sweater to cry into.

Prussia couldn't estimate how long he cried in his friends' arms, Spain rubbing circles into the nape of his neck and his shoulder blades and France whispering nonsense things into his hair. Eventually Prussia got enough of it out that he could look up; he knew his eyes were puffy and bloodshot and his face ashen by the way France made a sad kind of cooing noise, squeezing him around the waist.

Spain took his hand and helped him up, leading them out of the office with France right behind them and into Prussia's bedroom. "What happened, _Prusia_?" Spain asked while pushing Prussia to sit on his bed. Spain sat next to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders, and France did the same on the other side with an arm around his waist. "Is it about work, or Germany, or…?"

Quite sure that attempting to talk would only end in more crying, Prussia nodded, resting his head on France's shoulder. Then he shook his head and made an absent gesture, and sure enough, burst into tears. France and Spain seemed to get the same idea at the same time, pushing Prussia to lay back and making themselves comfortable to either side of him. "Close your eyes, _mon cher_," France murmured, pulling Prussia's back against his chest and tightening his grip around the former nation's waist. Spain was curled on their other side, facing Prussia with a quietly sympathetic expression.

Exhausted and embarrassed, Prussia did just that. Maybe he was dreaming and by the time he reopened his eyes they would be gone. There was a murmur of voices just above his head that seemed to get farther and farther away until Prussia finally dropped into a fitful sleep.

* * *

An hour later, according to the display of his alarm clock, Prussia awoke feeling much better. France was still lying next to him and a thick blanket had been draped over the both of them. Spain was sitting in the chair in the opposite corner of Prussia's room, speaking in low tones into the phone. When he caught Prussia's eye-and it was mortifying to Prussia that his own automatic reaction was to lower his gaze and try to appear smaller than he was, like it was 19-fucking-70-he said a farewell and put his phone away.

"Hello," Spain said gently. "Are you feeling any better?"

Prussia sat up slowly without shifting France too much. "I guess," he replied, wincing at the wrecked tone of his voice. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting you. You don't usually… see me in the winter."

This didn't comfort Spain as much as Prussia thought it would. The Mediterranean nation looked a bit sick, standing up and walking over to sit at Prussia's side on the very edge of the bed. Prussia grabbed his shirt and tugged a bit until he and Spain were sitting shoulder to shoulder. "Not liking the cold is no reason for us to leave you here alone," Spain said in rare seriousness.

While his first instinct was to try and shift attention from his problems onto something else, just as a comment about Gilbird formed in his mind Prussia pressed his lips together and looked at his hands.

After a moment of actually thinking about what he wanted to say, he began, "I know you have responsibilities that I don't have anymore. You have to meet with more people and do more work and adjust to more changes, especially in the last half a century, and it's my fault. I deserve-" Prussia closed his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. _That_ wasn't supposed to come out at all.

After the Wall fell and his people escaped the Soviets, Prussia spent most of his time apologizing for his and his brother's actions to any nation who would listen. Even Austria got a heartfelt apology once before Prussia was comfortable annoying him again. France got very teary-eyed when he was apologized to because of his horrific occupation and the destruction of his people. Spain, however, called himself just as responsible, a claim Prussia refused to acknowledge. Spain and France had already had a long discussion about Franco while Prussia was behind the wall and France forgave him as well.

Even Germany hadn't shown as much remorse as Prussia had, and Prussia was practically tortured for four decades after his painful dissolution. Their friendship was fractured and while the duo in the West had made up decades ago, Prussia felt distinctly out of the loop; Spain made Prussia promise to stop apologizing to them and just work on being himself again. Prussia kept his promise admirably for about fifteen years.

And now Spain's expression was almost as murderous as it would be if Romano was ever threatened (France was on the receiving end of this expression a lot back in the day, and so was England for slightly different reasons). "You don't _deserve_ to cry alone because you actually feel guilt and your _puto_ friends don't talk to you enough." Prussia tried to interrupt but apparently Spain wasn't finished.

"The only thing you deserve, _Prusia_, is a chance to show the rest of the world's idiots that you are remorseful, and you took that chance the moment you escaped that _bastardo Rusia_. It's true that you were a warmonger back in the day but we all were.

"We have done far worse atrocities to the African continent than you did to your little plot of European land, and don't think we all don't know that wasn't your fault." Spain gritted his teeth, grabbing Prussia's hand and lacing their fingers together. "We've all had our share of dictators. Even little Veneziano and Romano were under Mussolini and the Fascists during the war. Just because your kid brother manipulates you into-"

Prussia was already shaking his head, tremors running up and down his back. "Germany didn't manipulate me, I need to protect him!" he said breathlessly, feeling like he wanted to cry again but there were no tears left. "He's so fucking young, _Spanien_."

"After what he went through without you? Not anymore." Spain's voice had risen in anger and Prussia shrank back, knocking into France and making the other man grumble irritably. "No, no, _mi amigo_, I'm not- I'm not mad at _you_." Spain didn't say anything else on the matter, just tugging on their joined hands until Prussia fell forward and France dragged himself awake to press into Prussia's back, sandwiching him again.

Despite his latent sadness, Prussia felt like maybe he would smile later that day. "Thank you," he breathed, tilting his head to allow France to nuzzle into his shoulder. They were quiet until the front door opened again, alerting Prussia that Veneziano and his brother really were home. He disentangled himself from his friends, accepted a kiss across his knuckles from Spain and a cheeky pinch on the thigh from France, and made his way into his bathroom to wash his face.

Prussia closed the bathroom door behind himself and stared into the mirror under bright fluorescent lights. He looked like shit, really and truly. A few splashes of cold water on his face and the back of his neck helped him feel a bit better but he was still shaking and his eyes were dull. He stood there for maybe five minutes until he heard movement in his room, no doubt France and Spain neatening whatever they put out of place.

Ready to face people other than his closest friends, Prussia dried his face and turned off the bathroom light. France was standing outside the door, holding a mug full of coffee. "_Venetien_," he explained. "We didn't mention anything you wouldn't want us to, of course, but I think he knew anyway. He looked…." France trailed off while Prussia took a sip of his drink.

"Thanks," he mumbled, setting the cup on the small table between his room and the bathroom. "I'm sure you guys were trying to visit the awesome me for some awesome reason, right? I'm ready to go out if you want to-if you don't want to leave-"

Spain must have had some self-depreciation meter on him because he was out of Prussia's bedroom and between him and France almost instantly, a hand against Prussia's jaw to keep him from lowering his gaze. "Me and _Francia_ are here to see you, not to make you do anything or go anywhere. And we're not leaving until you want us to."

France leaned over Spain's shoulder and made a show of rolling his eyes at the melodrama, drawing a laugh from Prussia because France, king of the dramatic, had no room to talk. Spain's flinty green eyes warmed at the sound, and he grabbed Prussia's hands, nudging France to further open the bedroom door.

* * *

**translations:**  
**mon ami - my friend (french)**  
**Spainien - Spain (german)**  
**Prusia - Prussia (spanish)**  
**mon cher - my dear (french)**  
**puto - fucking (spainish)**  
**Rusia - Russia (spanish)**  
**mi amigo - my friend (spanish)**  
**Venetien - Veneziano (french)**  
**Francia - France (spanish)**

**thank you for reading**


	2. We Sink

**This part is all sex and little plot, so you can skip it if you'd like.**

* * *

Prussia found himself pushed back onto the bed, France's mouth slanted over his and Spain's hands unbuttoning his shirt. There was nothing to do but bury one hand in Spain's hair and use the other to pull France closer, allowing the other nation to slide his tongue into Prussia's mouth and press even closer to him. Prussia's eyes were suspiciously and embarrassingly wet again but no tears fell as France trailed kisses down his neck and newly bared chest, following the path Spain was opening.

As soon as he reached down to do the same to France's shirt, warm hands encircled his wrists. "No," France said teasingly, kissing each of Prussia's fingertips. "You never let us pamper you, _mon coeur_. No touching."

Spain kissed France roughly, leaving Prussia to watch and flex his fingers in want. France pulled away first, returning to his journey down Prussia's chest and stomach, and Spain kissed him this time. Prussia, his hands newly freed, wrapped his arms around Spain's shoulders and held him close.

"Off with these," France was muttering, tugging at Prussia's jeans. He arched to help, and was soon naked except for the shirt hanging off his shoulders. France slid off the bed but Spain was still preoccupied with his mouth, one hand fisting in Prussia's hair and the other holding possessively to his hip.

Prussia longed to get his lovers naked as well but they were keeping him sufficiently distracted. When France returned to his side he reached out pulled him closer, pushing Spain up and off of him. "You two," was all he could manage to say. He pressed his thighs together in a phantom of embarrassment, pulling the blanket over his legs. France caught on quicker than Spain, kissing him again, deeper, like Prussia wanted them to. France got as far as reaching down Spain's pants before they refocused on him, tearing the blanket away.

France laughed delightedly when Prussia flushed red from his face down his neck and to his chest. "Nothing to be worried about, I've seen it all before," he teased. Prussia blew a raspberry at him and he pounced, one trouser clad thigh between Prussia's legs. Spain pulled his shirt up over his head and playfully knocked France away, taking his place. "Oi!" France yelled and pulled him away, and then they were rolling around on Prussia's bed that was really not made for three-it was barely made for two with the way they roughhoused.

Soon enough laughter dissolved into moans, France pushing Spain's thighs open and grinding their covered cocks together. They had different tempos, France slow and smooth and Spain a little arrhythmic, but it was obviously doing something for the both of them. Prussia reached down with his left hand to stroke lightly at his erection, watching them openly.

There was a thrilling of 'r's as Spain whispered something in his native language that had France and Prussia shuddering together, France much more vocal with his appreciation than Prussia ever was. Spain planted two wet kisses on France's cheek to get him laughing again, and then turned his head toward the former nation at their side.

"Don't mind me," Prussia murmured, wrapping his hand fully around his shaft and stroking a little more obviously. Spain's hand joined his a bit awkwardly, but the contact was appreciated, until France rifled around in Prussia's bedside table for his lube and Spain sat up.

"Shift." France slapped the insides of Prussia's thighs lightly until he bent his knees and let France get settled between them again. A cool, slick finger pressed at him, giving him a moment's warning before it was inside him. Spain sat on the sidelines this time, letting France work more fingers into Prussia and pull his trousers down enough to thrust into Prussia in one smooth movement.

France found leverage with one hand on Prussia's hip, pressing him into the mattress, while the other stroked his cock mercilessly. "_V-vögeln_-" Prussia stammered, his breath coming shallow and his cock twitching.

It was unlike France to be so rough but Prussia found he liked it, France's normally perfect hair in a mess around his face, eyes wild and mouth set in a smirk that made Prussia proud. He could only take the assault on his prostate and the head of his cock for about five minutes before a sharp fission of pleasure shot up his spine and he arched up, cum spattering up his stomach and chest. He knew he moaned long and loud and in the back of his mind he hoped Veneziano and Germany had something loud playing upstairs so they didn't hear him.

France leaned forward, pushing Prussia's leg to the bed with a sweet burn in his muscles. "_Fantastique_," he praised, still moving his hand on Prussia's oversensitive dick to make him whine. "Stay still, _beau_." Prussia nodded and let France continue to thrust into his post-orgasm pliant body. He felt aftershocks every time France moved but it was mostly about the intimacy for him at this point.

Spain looked like he wanted to lick Prussia's own cum off his chest but was holding himself back for some reason. Prussia reached a hand out toward him, smiling faintly when Spain took it and shifted closer. "I'm waiting my turn," Spain answered his unasked question, eyes still tracing the cooling lines of semen decorating Prussia's skin down to his soft cock and the place where he and France joined.

"Sloppy seconds?" Prussia slurred with a wide grin. France shifted enough that Prussia choked off a moan, the cock inside of him pressing deeper with each thrust. He'd achieved multiple orgasms with them before-the Kingdom of Passion and Land of Romance indeed-but never like this. Spain pecked him on the lips, then reached for his cock, stroking it back to some semblance of hardness while he balanced between overstimulated pain and something that could turn out to be another orgasm.

Some time later, as Prussia felt himself start to tense again and his breath stuttered, France's relentless pace faltered and a string of French curses fell from his lips. Prussia felt the always odd sensation of warm cum inside of him, and then France pulled out, relinquishing the grip on Prussia that no doubt left bruises to attack his neck and replicate the bruises.

He could only see France's mass of blond hair for a few seconds, so he hardly noticed Spain changing positions. A different but still familiar cock slicked with more lube pushed inside of him and Prussia grimaced as he felt some of France's semen slide out of him. "_Dios_," Spain hissed once he was all the way inside. Prussia teased him by rolling his hips, earning himself a bite on the lip from France.

After a kiss of apology, France left his lips alone to take his cock into his mouth. Prussia grasped his hair loosely, trying not to be too rough with France's most prized asset, and France let himself be guided by Prussia's gentle hand. This orgasm broke over him like a water balloon, a sharp pop and a deluge of pleasure, and he was halfway through it before he even knew it had started. France was swallowing, lips still around Prussia's cock, and the former nation rasped, "If you make me come three times in a row I'm moving in with you tonight."

France snorted, wiping his mouth and kneeling up to give Spain a taste. "I think our _Espagne_ is too close for that…," he replied, and as if on cue, Spain pulled out and stroked himself to completion overtop of the mess Prussia already made. It wasn't particularly sexy for him, but he knew Spain liked it a lot, and they would help him wash up in the shower-another place in his rooms not meant for three people that was practically trained to fit all of them.

Spain collapsed next to Prussia, reaching out for his hand and gripping it loosely. "_Te amo, precioso_." He was breathing like he had just run a marathon and Prussia was extremely endeared to him at that moment. France was watching them both with a smile on his face, taking Prussia's other hand and pressing it to his heart in a completely sappy gesture.

"Shower, please," Prussia urged, trying to sit up with weak muscles. "Before this gets itchy." Spain groaned and waved them off but didn't let go of Prussia's hand, and France pinched Spain's cheek, and Prussia felt like maybe this winter wouldn't be so lonely.

* * *

translations:  
mon coeur - my heart (french)  
vögeln - fuck (german)  
fantastique - incredible (french)  
beau - beautiful (french)  
Dios - God (spanish)  
Espagne - Spain (french)  
te amo - I love you (spanish)  
preciouso - beautiful, precious (spanish)

thank you for reading


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